by K A Riley
“How?” I ask, anxiously nodding my agreement. “It’s not possible—”
Manthy puts up a hand, and a mischievous smile spreads across her face under a playful sparkle in her lively brown eyes. “Don’t worry, guys. I didn’t actually turn invisible. I just ducked down and hid behind stuff when the Patriots started to look my way. Then, when they weren’t paying attention, I found Render, grabbed him, and ran. Nothing superheroic about it.”
Looking only slightly less confused and a little relieved, Cardyn lets go of the breath he’s been holding. “So your new superpower is…”
“That I’m not an idiot,” Manthy says with a flirty grin and a frisky slap to Cardyn’s shoulder.
The fact that Manthy seems so lighthearted gives me hope.
We all share a quick laugh as she slips out of her jacket, scoops Render out of my arms, and bundles him snuggly into a makeshift baby sling before handing him back to me. Brohn stands behind me and rigs his own jacket into a second sling, which he slips over my shoulders so, combined with Manthy’s cradle contraption, I can carry Render hands-free.
Wisp flicks her thumb up toward the tunnel’s ceiling and reminds us that we have an enemy just above our heads and a wounded soldier in our arms to tend to.
With Wisp back in the lead and with Render cradled in my arms, we race along the tunnel, hop down a few steps to another tunnel, zig and zag for what must be several city blocks, clamber up a small steel ladder and race down the tracks of what Wisp calls out to us is a long-abandoned subway line.
“I know this tunnel,” I say to Wisp as we scurry along. “Render flew down here the other day.”
“Right. It’s part of one of our supply lines now,” she explains. “It’s how we got across town to you without being detected, and it’ll lead us back to the Style.”
As Brohn and the others form a tight, protective clump around me, we arrive at a chipped metal ladder bolted to the surface of a clammy, rocky wall. Wisp asks Brohn to lead the way, which he does.
“It’s locked,” he calls back down to us from the top of the ladder.
Wisp taps the comm-link behind her ear. When nothing happens, she taps it again. “I’m trying to reach Granden, but he’s not answering. Must still be out with the Insubordinates. Let me see if I can reach Sabine. She’s supposed to be on door duty.”
When Wisp still isn’t able to get a response, Cardyn starts dancing around in place and looking down the tunnel the way we came. “What if—?”
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “We’re not being followed.”
“Link’s down,” Wisp says. “I’m worried Ekker might have found a way to block our comm system.”
“Then how are we going to get out of here?” Rain asks, looking unsuccessfully around for an alternate way out.
At the same time, Wisp and I look up at Brohn.
“Brohn?” Wisp calls up.
His voice drops down from above our heads. “I’ll see what I can do.”
At the top of the narrow shaft, he presses hard with his forearm against the heavy bronze-colored cover.
“Won’t open?” Cardyn calls out frantically from just behind me.
“Oh, it’ll open,” Brohn promises.
Render has stopped moving, but the crack of Brohn’s shoulder and upper back ringing down through the dark shaft startles him awake, and he lets out a guttural series of hacking barks.
Up above us, yielding to Brohn’s incredible strength and refusal to surrender, the cover flies off the top of the shaft, and light beams down on us. We clamber up the cold metal ladder and emerge in the alleyway behind the Style. By the time I get to the top of the ladder with Render still swaddled against my chest, Wisp has already scanned open the back door and is rushing us along into the building.
Together, we sprint up the two flights to the room where Manthy and I were talking with Caldwell about the Modifieds. Technically, that was this morning. Or was it yesterday? After the night I spent awake with Manthy and then with Brohn and then having blacked out in Ekker’s prison globe for I don’t know how long, I’ve completely lost track of time.
Clearly surprised to see six wheezing teenagers storm in through the doorway, Caldwell leaps up from where he’s been tending to one of the Modifieds. His eyes are wide at the sight of us: We’re haggard, panting like a pack of wild dogs, covered in sweat from our run, and caked in mud from the tunnels. Plus, Brohn’s shirt is still decorated with a giant patch of dried blood. After a quick explanation, Wisp instructs me to hand Render over to Caldwell, which I do. I don’t even have to think twice about it. I’ve spoken with Caldwell. I’ve seen all the good he does for so many who have it so bad. Plus, I’ve heard his voice in my head, so I trust him with my life, and, more importantly at the moment, I trust him with Render’s.
I beg him to help Render, and he swears he’ll do what he can.
“Birds aren’t exactly my specialty, though,” he warns as he cradles the barely-moving black raven in his arms.
“Maybe not,” I remind him. “But healing is.”
Nodding his assent, Caldwell leads us all through the first two rooms of Modifieds and into his large, fully-stocked lab.
With Manthy’s help, Caldwell unwraps Render from the make-shift sling of jackets. Taking great care, he places him onto a shallow glass tray underneath a bank of lights and various surgical and mechanical tools connected to a group of slender milky-white machines suspended from the ceiling. Despite the loaded shelves and storage containers filling this room, the main lab table is remarkably pristine with a sanitized surface and small trays of delicate instruments neatly arranged in a semi-circle around the mag-chair that Caldwell plops down into.
He calls out “Diagnostics,” and Render is immersed in a bath of blue light while a red scroll of graphs and notes appears on a floating read-out above the table. Caldwell tells his med-system to “Run neuro and cardio spectroscan” as he skims the complicated-looking charts and images at top speed with his finger, tapping certain icons and brushing away others in a blur of frenetic motion.
As if she’s been doing this all her life, Manthy springs into action next to Caldwell. Like him, she flicks and taps at the red display and leans in close to inspect Render, who is now lying still amid the commotion around him.
Caldwell calls out the names of supplies he needs, and Manthy rushes to gather the items from the huge banks of bins and bays along the walls. She moves with efficient rapidity, giving Caldwell the instruments he’s asked for practically before he’s asked for them.
“How does she know what he’s talking about?” Cardyn asks quietly into the air.
“I have no idea how Manthy does or knows anything,” Brohn answers.
When Caldwell asks for a digi-synaptic bonder and a cingulate gyritic encoder–two items I’ve never heard of and that Manthy can’t find in any of the dozen or so drawers she pulls open—Wisp, who is standing right next to me, taps her comm-link.
It doesn’t work at first, but she tries again, clearly annoyed, and this time she’s able to get through. She orders the equipment brought upstairs from a supply room in the basement. Less than a minute later, one of the Insubordinates rushes into the room to drop off the equipment in a small, clear box.
Manthy snatches the box from Wisp and runs it over to Caldwell who leans over Render and begins performing some kind of rapid operation I can’t see but that terrifies me, nonetheless.
“At least the comm-system seems to be working now,” Wisp grumbles to herself before turning to us. “I need to go upstairs and see if Olivia can make sure it’s fully up and running and ready for Friday. Without it, we don’t have a chance against Ekker and Krug.”
Brohn tells her “Thanks” as she turns to go. “Thank you for coming for us.”
“Saving their big brothers,” Wisp calls back as she trots out of the room. “What are little sisters for?”
With Wisp gone, that leaves Brohn, Cardyn, and Rain to mill around helplessly with me at the
foot of Caldwell’s work table. Brohn leans against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, a deep scowl of anger etched on his face, and I know he’s already thinking about all the damage he’s planning to inflict on Ekker. Cardyn is chewing on the skin around his fingernails. Rain looks worried and calls over to Caldwell and Manthy to see if there’s anything she can do to help, but Caldwell tells her, “Not at the moment.”
We don’t know what to do, and we don’t know what not to do.
Caldwell solves our dilemma by shooing all of us away, telling us he and Manthy need space so they can work in peace, but there’s no way in the world I’m leaving Render.
“He needs to know I’m here,” I start to sob as the others turn toward the door. “He needs to know he’s not alone.”
With his arm around me Brohn says he’ll stay with me, but Cardyn and Rain convince him to head upstairs with them. “We still have a lot of work to do,” Rain reminds him. “A lot of training and strategy sessions to get to before we get this little rebellion of ours off the ground. And there are still a couple dozen holo-sims we need to run through with the Insubordinates. Nothing we can do here now except get in the way.”
I nod my approval that it’s okay for him to go. “I’ll be up soon,” I promise. “I just want to be here until I know…until Caldwell and Manthy tell me he’s okay.” I turn to Manthy. “He is going to be okay, isn’t he?”
The hope I felt earlier down in the tunnel has started to fade, and Manthy’s silence is all it takes to get me crying again.
While I pace on one side of the room and try not to hyperventilate, Caldwell and Manthy, hunched over and shoulder-to-shoulder, work on Render deep into the night. Eventually, I sag down into a mag-chair where I soon fall into a dark, restless sleep.
I’m roused awake by a gentle shake to my shoulder. “Go on upstairs,” Manthy says. “Get some proper rest.”
Having no idea how much time has passed, I blink away the stray remnants of a vague nightmare I was having and press the heels of my hands against my thumping temples. Caldwell is still at the far end of the lab table where he’s fussing over Render and examining him through a diagnostic lens. Thin golden threads run from Render’s body up to the sleek white and silver machines on the ceiling. “What about you?” I ask Manthy through a stifled yawn. “You must be more exhausted than I am.”
Manthy shrugs and smiles. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
I lean forward, waiting for her to elaborate. Finally, she glides a mag-chair over and sits down next to me. “I don’t sleep anymore. I don’t sleep, and I don’t dream.”
“You mean you don’t sleep through the night?”
“I mean, I don’t sleep. Ever. I’m not sure why. It started a few weeks ago. I never said anything because…”
“Because?”
“Because I didn’t want to seem like more of a freak than I already am.”
“I don’t know if I’d call you a freak,” I tell her.
“Then what would you call me?”
“I think I’d call you one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”
Manthy gives my knee a quick pat and a gentle shake. “Go on up. Spend some time with Brohn. Tell Rain not to worry. Slap Cardyn in the head for me.”
I laugh, which feels like the wrong thing to do, but it feels good and necessary at the same time. “Will do.” I turn back to look at Render. He seems too big for the small tray he’s in. “Just please make sure…”
Just as I’m saying this, Caldwell calls Manthy over, and the fear and urgency in his voice makes my heart flutter.
Manthy gives my knee another squeeze before she jumps up to assist Caldwell. “We’ll do everything possible,” she calls back to me.
Remarkably, that calms me down. From anyone else, I might consider this an overly optimistic claim. But Manthy’s “possible” is better than most people’s certainty.
18
Thursday
The next morning, I awake to a cluster of four faces leaning into my own. I scan them all one at a time: Brohn with his perfectly-arched eyebrows and the dark shadow of stubble on his firm jaw. Cardyn’s freckles and plump lips. Rain’s jet-black hair, matching eyes, and flawless skin. Manthy’s pale complexion and shaded, downcast eyes. I know these faces better than I know my own, but this time, there is something different about all of them. It takes me a second, but I realize what it is: Despite the horrific events from just a few hours ago, my four friends are all sporting rosy cheeks and ear-to-ear smiles. Instead of my Conspiracy being in tears and crushed comatose by terror and trauma, they look like they’re in the middle of some grand holiday celebration.
Me? I feel like I’ve been backed over by a Patriot Army tank. Twice.
Every muscle in my body is sore, and every synapse in my brain has its own headache. Squinting and groaning myself up onto one elbow, I drag an arm across my bleary eyes. “How long have I—?”
“Been asleep?” Brohn finishes for me, brushing a lock of disheveled hair from my sweaty forehead as he kneels down next to my bed. “Not long enough if you ask me.”
Rain leans over Brohn’s shoulder. “After what you’ve just been through, you deserve a month’s worth of sleep.”
“At least,” Cardyn laughs. “You only got a couple of hours. Don’t worry, though. We covered for you. We may not have access to Mr. Superbird, but we were able to go over some strategy ideas with Wisp, run through a bunch of sims with the Insubordinates, and get a little closer to making sure we all don’t get ourselves killed on Friday.”
“Friday? Superbird? Oh, right.”
All at once, the events of the last few hours come flooding back: going on a mission with Brohn, getting shot at, kidnapped, rescued, and Render getting horribly wounded at the end of it all.
Wounded? Or killed?
I bolt upright. “What happened to—?”
Still smiling, Manthy steps forward and sits down on the edge of my bed. In her arms, she’s holding something swaddled in a neatly-pleated white sheet. The lump inside the sheet twitches and offers up a feeble kraa! I can’t contain my relief and joy.
“Render! It’s Render!”
Kind of. I peel back the soft white cocoon he’s enveloped in and am shocked at the sight.
Over much of his body, on top of his sleek purplish-black feathers, he’s outfitted with a patchwork of what looks like thin layers of gold-leaf body armor. A gilded breast-plate expands across his breast. Some of his longer primary wing-feathers as well as his shorter secondary ones are lined with some kind of slender optical fibers. Most of the small feathers on his back are covered with triangles of tiny overlapping chain-mail that glitter and sparkle like the scales of a goldfish. A band of micro-filaments runs along his sides from the base of his head to near the tip of his tail like racing stripes on a sports car. Another band, this one pointed at the ends, curves from just above his eyes, over his head, and partway down the back of his neck.
It’s a sad but ferocious sight to see. On the one hand, he doesn’t look exactly like the majestic black bird I’ve known for so long. On the other hand, he now resembles a Roman centurion, a gladiator prepared at all costs to vanquish his enemies in battle. Either way, he’s still my partner and my connection to a world of experiences and sensory perceptions far beyond my own. To know how much pain he must be in and to see his sleek beautiful black body covered in this grid of gold armor and this network of wires is enough to break my heart.
Render looks up at me, his metallic, graphite-colored eyes now sparkling strangely with flecks of green and amber. It’s the same combination I’ve been told dances around in my own eyes in certain types of light. I lean down and touch my forehead to the top of his round head. The partial helmet, curved and sleek as a king’s crown, is cool to the touch. Render gives a little bark and ruffles his hackles, which are now partially covered by the golden breast-plate.
“What happened to him?” I ask, reaching out a hesitant finger to trace the circuit of gold fibers alo
ng the edge of his wing. “Is he okay?”
Brohn, Cardyn, and Rain all look over to Manthy, who doesn’t answer. Instead, she reaches out and gives Render an affectionate pat on the head before turning around and walking away.
“Thank you!” I call out to Manthy through an embarrassing stream of grateful tears.
“Don’t thank me,” Manthy calls back as she pads over to one of the sinks just inside the bathroom and begins to splash water on her face. “Thank Olivia and Caldwell.”
I look over to Brohn and ask, “Olivia?” but he just shrugs.
“Manthy says Olivia consulted with them remotely from her station in the Intel Room,” Rain tells me.
“She’s very plugged in,” Brohn explains. “From what Granden told us, it takes a lot to move her from where she’s integrated with all those consoles and monitors. So Caldwell and Manthy worked on Render from Caldwell’s lab while Olivia linked in to offer whatever help was needed.”
Rain reaches out to run her hand along Render’s armored body. “Apparently, Olivia figured out how to integrate a digital patch into his synaptic neural network. Caldwell was able to repair the internal damage, suture up his wounds, and outfit him with this nice new suit. Very dashing, I must say. But it was our very own modest Manthy over there who was able to talk to the program and refine the code. Olivia and Caldwell kept him from dying. They rebuilt his body. But Manthy, she’s the one who saved his life. Oh, and she was also apparently able to build on the tech your dad implanted in him.”
“Build on it? How do you mean?”
“We’re not a hundred percent sure yet,” Cardyn chimes in, throwing his voice toward the bathroom loud enough for Manthy to hear. When she ignores him completely, Cardyn turns back to me. “Manthy says she doesn’t really know what’ll happen. Only that he’s likely to be pretty out of it for the next few days, but he should be good as new after that.”
I nod, and then something occurs to me. “Wait. A few days? Today’s Thursday, right? We’re supposed to raid the Armory tomorrow.”
